You say? Then bring along a pen and write-in your candidate of choice. This is what I intend to do. For example, let’s take the Governor’s race. I for one have been carpet-bombed with fliers for Andrew Cuomo and/or his “Women’s Equality Party”. I am guessing his “wizards” “crunched” the numbers/statistics and deduced I would likely be moved by material like this:

Guess what? They were wrong.

If there is one thing I have observed as a New York State (and “City”) resident, it is there’s plentyof injustice to go around. One need not be a woman to experience it (although it does not hurt): being LGBTQ, a Latino or African American male youth (Can you say “Stop & Frisk?), simply practicing a religion and/or having a national origin which is not widely understood (Hello, Ebola scare/”stranger danger”!) will suffice. Hell, the previous make being a straight, married, woman of White Anglo Saxon descent look like a cake walk.

I am writing in Bella Abzug as my choice for Governor. The fact she is deceased is, in my humble opinion, a minor technicality. Ms. Abzug was a genuine, honest-to-god, balls-to-the-wall feminist. She was a fighter. And I suspect, wherever she may be, she takes an exceptionally dim view of “Women’s Equality Party”. This is because the “WEP” seeks to exploit— not build upon— the hard work and sacrifices women like her made to make our lives a mite bit better in 2014.

Note: I wrote our. No feminist worth her (or his) salt is merely going to vote by virtue of vagina. It is much more complicated than that. “Women’s” issues are inextricably tied to LGBTQ issues. Same goes for race and class. But there I go talking about class again. It’s time to wrap this tome up.

Those of you who do not know where your polling station is can find out here. Now if you do not mind, it’s cocktail time…

Today I had a craving for Mexican food. Well, not “Mexican” food per se. I craved crap. To this end I patronized the Taco Bell located on the Champs-Élysées of the Garden Spot: McGuinness Boulevard. Upon exiting with my bag of unhealthy goodness I noticed two perfectly placed pairs of coordinating footwear atop the garbage can. How they got there is anyone’s guess. I simply found how they coordinated with the building compelling and strangely beautiful.

After snapping this shot I opted to enjoy my burrito al fresco. I took a stroll along Provost Street. There outside the premises of the Newtown Creek Waste Water Treatment Facility— in the shadow of the Shit Tits— I happened upon another urban artifact. It too was compelling but most decidedly notbeautiful.

It is rare, gentle readers, that I happen upon something that makes me lose my appetite. After closer examination of the item in question (and shooting burrito bits out of my nose) this is exactly what happened. The burrito was placed back in the bag and out came the camera.

I suppose I should take the glass half-full approach:

1. The parties responsible for the piece of love’s detritus which awaited my delectation engaged in safe sex.2. Greenpoint— especially its more remote/secluded nooks and crannies— is and has long been for lovers.

WARNING/CAVEAT: once this is seen, it cannot be unseen. Click at your own risk.

Ever had the feeling you were being watched? I experienced just this today at WNYC Transmitter Park. So I stopped, looked around and, sure enough, I was right!

I am not a rodentologist— but I have been a resident of our fair city (in three boroughs, no less) close to two decades. In this capacity I:

have had one run across my foot.

have seen the tremendous enthusiasm with which our resident pest control experts (READ: cats) dispatch Rattus norvegicus young ‘uns. To cite an example:

Me (to the Mister): Is that a rubber band hanging out of Tortilla’s mouth?The Mister: No, it isn’t. Don’t go into the kitchen.No, gentle readers, I did not spy with my little eye a rubber band. They were rat innards. Actually make that EX rat innards.

patronize the New York City subway system.

Suffice it to say I am not the least bit squeamish when it comes to our furry friends. Quite to the contrary. When I see them scurrying about subway platforms or along the tracks I offer words of encouragement. E.g;

Run, Forrest, run!*

Surely the previous points count for something? You bet your sweet assthey do! As far as rodents go this is one fine specimen: clear eyes, shiny coat and a mite bit— how shall we say— rotund. In fact, he (?) was not much smaller than a couple of canines I saw running (off-leash, of course) fifteen to twenty feet away. I think I will name my new friend Ben…

*Try this. I guarantee it will net you a nice, wideberth of passage on the platform.

One has to admire the evocative word-smithing and brutal honesty employed in this missive. I can only imagine the series of events that came to pass so as to require such a policy. I am not sure I want to know. If I ever find my person in need of “work wear”, I am totally taking my business to this establishment. Well done, Zoe’s!